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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25075156">The Menace of The Years</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meabd/pseuds/Meabd'>Meabd</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Invictus [3]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Eventual Smut, Fae Jaskier | Dandelion, Feral Jaskier | Dandelion, Hurt/Comfort, Immortal Jaskier | Dandelion, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Monster of the Week, Soft Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Soft Jaskier | Dandelion, no beta we die like men</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 03:07:59</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>8,391</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25075156</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meabd/pseuds/Meabd</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>It's been several months since Jaskier and Geralt had come together, and Jaskier has quite a big secret that he was really hoping Geralt would figure out for himself. Big surprise: He hadn't. </p><p>But now that a contract for a Fae has come up, Jaskier wrestles with the decision to out himself or to sit idly by and watch his lover murder his kin. It's not an easy call.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia &amp; Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Invictus [3]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1794715</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>61</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>969</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>The Witcher - Various Alternate Universes</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Death Goes Dogging Everywhere</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I'd highly recommend reading the first part of this series if you haven't yet; though this <i>can</i> be treated as a standalone, it works better with some background.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Jaskier was a very patient man, considering his rather feral nature. He was quite <em> proud </em> of the restraint he had when performing—it wasn’t often that he lashed out at a heckler, but there was just <em> one </em> thing he couldn’t abide: disrespect towards his Witcher. </p><p>“Play something worth listenin’ to bard,” the portly man at the table closest to him demanded. </p><p>“My good sir, all songs are worth something to someone,” Jaskier winked, purposefully ignoring the ignorant lout. “And now folks, an ode to our very own hero—” the bard nodded at Geralt, who sat glowering in the back of the tavern.</p><p>“When a humble bard graced a ride along with Geralt of—”</p><p>“Hero my lily white ass, he’s a gods damned butcher, shouldn’t even be allowed in town,” the heckler spat, waving a large dirty hand at the Witcher. </p><p>“You take that back, you backwater son of a whore,” <em> Oh dear that was a bit more vicious than intended </em>.</p><p>“Like hell. You waltz in here with that mutant pretendin’ that you’re better than us. At least I’m not fucking some half human devil,” the bard’s fist connected with the brute’s face with a force that caught them both off guard. Oh, he’d <em> definitely </em> dislodged some teeth. </p><p>The villager looked rattled, but not cowed. He stood, towering over the bard. Jaskier glanced about, searching for a non-lethal weapon, but a large hand wound its way around his neck. He attempted to pry the fingers away but dropped his hands when another meaty fist connected with his solar plexus. <em> Alright if that’s how we’re playing </em>, Jaskier unsheathed the stiletto dagger nestled against his spine, he was struggling to get a good grasp on it when the brute was suddenly next to him on the ground. In front of him, Geralt glared at Jaskier, plucking the dagger from his fingers and grabbing him by the arm. </p><p>“Well folks,” Jaskier’s voice was a bit wheezy as he addressed the gobsmacked audience, “thank you for a wonderful evening, I hope you—” Geralt <em> yanked </em> him along, none too gently. </p><p>“I could take him Geralt,” Jaskier whined as the two climbed the stairs to their room. Well, Geralt climbed. Jaskier was <em>dragged</em>. The Witcher’s lips were pursed in a hard, agitated line. When they’d made it to the privacy of their chamber Geralt sighed heavily. </p><p>“You were going to <em> kill </em> him, and then I’d have to break you out of whatever shithole jail they have here,” he nudged the slender bard towards the bed, waving about the dagger for emphasis. </p><p>“I could break myself out, thank you very much,” Jaskier huffed, arms folding across his chest. His dear Witcher had no idea how true that was.</p><p>“Not the point Jask,” he knelt between Jaskier’s legs, gentle fingers probing at the bard’s neck. “Are you alright?” Geralt’s voice was subdued, his hands stayed on the bard’s skin, leaving trails of heat that curled deliciously in the pit of his stomach.</p><p>“I’d be better if you had let me gut that uneducated twat,” Jaskier retorted. He really should let go of this one and just <em> enjoy </em> those talented hands, but he was still so put out by the situation. </p><p>“Yeah, you’re fine,” the tone was fond and Jaskier couldn’t help but nuzzle into the large hand that cupped his face. The two sat pressed together for a long moment, their breath mingling. </p><p>“You can’t keep starting fights like this Jask,” Geralt whispered with a hint of admonition in his voice. Jaskier rolled his eyes, pulling away from the embrace to lean back on his hands.</p><p>“But he called you—”</p><p>“I don’t <em> care </em> what he called me, it was <em> your </em> neck his hands were wrapped around,” Geralt sat forward, bracketing the bard between heavily muscled arms. “There will always be people that hate Witchers. They’re afraid of us. No amount of ballads or songs will change that, no matter how hard you try,” his matter-of-fact tone all but broke Jaskier’s heart. </p><p>“All the more reason to leave me to my own devices. If I can’t convince them with my lute then I <em> must </em> try a fist,” Jaskier’s voice was lightly teasing; though judging from the unimpressed gold eyes staring down at him the levity was not appreciated. </p><p>“I don’t want you getting hurt. I can’t lose you,” the unspoken <em> again </em> settled heavy in the back of Jaskier’s mind. To his Witcher he was a fragile, human thing. White brows furrowed with worry, and the bard felt suddenly <em> very </em> contrite.</p><p>“Oh <em> dearheart </em>. I’m sorry,” he laid a gentle hand against Geralt’s cheek, pulling him down for a soft, chaste kiss.</p><p>Jaskier broke away, sliding further up on the lumpy mattress to make room for Geralt, who took the hint and followed. Settling back on the thin pillows, Jaskier revelled in the weight of Geralt pressed against him, nearly purring when he found himself divested of his tunic. He pulled the Witcher’s own free of his trousers, sliding thin fingers beneath the flimsy cotton to trace a scar just above his right hip bone. The breathy sigh he elicited was music to his ears.</p><p>“So <em> beautiful </em>,” Geralt hummed, nosing at the hollow of Jaskier’s neck. The warm breath made him shiver. Calloused fingers brushed over a barely healed bite mark, one blunt fingernail catching on a scab and pulling it away. Jaskier could smell the bead of blood that welled up on the pale skin of his shoulder, and he shuddered at the pleasure of the sensation. Geralt drew away from the embrace, and a small noise of protest bubbled from the bard’s throat. </p><p>“Geralt?” The Witcher loomed over Jaskier, looking at him with those inscrutable golden eyes.</p><p>“Are you sure you’re up to…” his gaze lingered over the myriad of bruises and scrapes that littered Jaskier’s exposed upper body. The worry in Geralt’s expression caught him off guard. Jaskier knew his Witcher to be a possessive thing, he thought having physical reminders of that possession was something Geralt <em> enjoyed </em>. Perhaps he should have adjusted his glamor so they weren’t quite so noticeable.</p><p>“I’m <em> fine </em> you silly, silly man. Now give us a kiss,” he pulled the Witcher back down, brushing his lower lip with a flick of tongue before biting. Geralt placed a gentle hand on Jaskier’s chest, pushing him away.</p><p>“Maybe my experience with humans has been limited to the compensated variety, but Jask I don’t think <em> most </em> people enjoy this,” he swiped a thumb over the scab again, drawing away to examine the blood on his fingers. </p><p>Jaskier didn’t correct him, because honestly at this point how <em> could </em> he? Geralt had been overly cautious with him in the months following their initial coming together, and he understood; the Witcher <em> loathed </em> hurting people, and the thought of causing harm to Jaskier in particular was unthinkable, but the bard did so <em> love </em> his sex rough.</p><p>“Darling <em> I </em> enjoy it. I don’t mind. Quite like it in fact,” he leaned into their embrace, licking the blood from the Witcher’s fingers in a gesture that was decidedly inhuman. Geralt sat back, out of reach.</p><p>“You’re not built to enjoy sex this rough. <em> Look </em> at you,” his tone was exasperated as he gestured at the love bites over Jaskier’s clavicle. “If I saw you like this without knowing <em> I </em> had been the one to do it I’d be out for someone’s blood.” </p><p>“While that’s a very sweet sentiment love, it’s not exactly the same thing,” Geralt’s heart was in the right place but the bard could hardly see the issue. “I’m not some fragile thing, you’re not abusing me, and I’m not pretending to enjoy the things I do,” Jaskier wiggled out from under his Witcher to lean back against the wall. He had a feeling he wouldn’t be getting railed tonight. </p><p>“But you <em> are </em> some fragile thing. You’re human. You bruise and break far more easily than I do. You won’t <em> be </em> here forever,” Geralt’s protestation was accompanied by a tortured look. Jaskier could feel the shimmer of his magic at the back of his mind, waiting to be released. Geralt was wrong, so <em> wrong </em> , but Jaskier was a coward and he did <em> not </em> want to have this conversation right now. The bard reached for the Witcher’s hand, slotting their fingers together. </p><p>“You have me <em> now </em>, my love,” his reassurance was quiet, measured. Geralt looked no less bothered, but he squeezed Jaskier’s hand gently in response.</p><p>“And what if I’m <em> too </em> rough one day?” <em> Ah, and </em> there’s <em> the crux of it all. </em> Jaskier tugged Geralt into his embrace, arranging the larger man against his chest. </p><p>“That’s not possible dear.” <em> I’m basically unbreakable </em> . “You may think you’re some big, bad brute that can’t control his own strength but I know better. You’d never really hurt me.” Though he couldn’t <em> see </em> Geralt’s face he could feel his scepticism. Jaskier ran his fingers down his flank, tracing the curve of his hip. </p><p>“Could we just…” the vibration of Geralt’s voice against Jaskier’s chest was soothing, and he nodded, understanding. He gripped his Witcher tight, and if Geralt realised it was a bit stronger than a normal human embrace he didn’t let it show. </p><p>“I love you,” Jaskier pressed a kiss against the crown of Geralt’s head, breathing him in. </p><p>“And I love you,” he heard the contentment in his voice, and drew the scratchy blanket up and around them. He wondered how much longer he could keep this secret of his.</p><p>Jaskier did not sleep soundly that night.</p>
<hr/><p>Jaskier woke to a cold bed. The light that poured in through the tattered curtains was too bright, and he pulled a pillow over his head to block it out. Geralt must have already left to speak to the alderman about the contract they were there for. He <em> hated </em> waking up alone. </p><p>The bard threw the blanket off, sitting up groggily. At least it wasn’t too terribly cold, with the fire going in the room. <em> The fire? </em> Geralt must have stoked it before he left. Jaskier’s throat grew suddenly tight at the small gesture. He took <em> such </em> good care of him.</p><p>Jaskier looked down, taking stock of himself. He had no idea how upset Geralt had been at the bruises and scrapes littered over his skin. He could of course let himself heal at a natural pace, rather than deliberately slowing it—but that would raise some questions, especially since he’d have to work out how to <em> moderate </em> his healing to something between human and Fae. He could thicken the glamor so that they didn’t look quite so… severe, but he was relatively certain Geralt would notice if he was suddenly no longer leaving bruises <em> at all </em> . For a magical creature Jaskier was <em> not </em> good at the finer points of magic; his approach skewed more towards hammer than rapier. </p><p>Jaskier approached the basin on the desk against the wall. He peered into the cloudy mirror above it, tracing a finger against one of the more grotesque bite marks. Okay, so yes maybe Geralt had a point about it <em> looking </em> bad. But the Fae just didn’t do <em> gentle </em> sex. It didn’t feel real. It lacked <em> passion </em>. And blood. But those two things were interchangeable to his kind. </p><p>Jaskier furrowed his brow, focusing on the spot he was touching. He had never been very good at glamor. He’d fine tuned this guise some fifty odd years ago and hadn’t really messed with it since. It was a real struggle for him to grasp the gossamer threads of his illusion, and he was sorely out of practice. </p><p>As Jaskier was weaving his magic over the bite mark the door behind him slammed open. Geralt froze in the entryway. How could he not <em> notice </em> him coming? Jaskier quickly halted his casting.</p><p>“Jask…” the Witcher nudged the door closed, his face a mask of abject horror as he stared at Jaskier. The bruises looked much worse in the light of day. Jaskier glanced down at himself in the mirror before turning to meet his eyes. He wished he had time to retool his glamor. Geralt wordlessly knelt to rifle through his saddlebag, pulling a jar out. He approached cautiously, as if he was unsure of what his reception would be.</p><p>“This should help,” his voice was rough as he handed over the paste, careful to not brush fingers. <em> Oh this simply won’t do. </em></p><p>“So, what’s the contract for?” Jaskier set the jar down, deliberately stepping into the circle of his Witcher’s arms. He hated the way Geralt tensed at the contact. </p><p>“Seems to be some sort of Fae, probably a Fachan. I’ll have a look around today then set the trap tonight,” Geralt wasn’t looking at the bard, which was his saving grace. A horrible weight settled in Jaskier’s stomach. Hopefully he didn’t know much about Fachans, because if he <em> did </em>, well… it wouldn’t be good. He carefully schooled his features into what he hoped was an eager interest.</p><p>“Ah, well let me grab my things,” Jaskier’s voice was bright as he moved to yank a shirt on.</p><p>“No. You’re staying here. If it <em> is </em> a Fachan I don’t want your scent anywhere,” Geralt at least knew Fachans hunted on scent. <em> Shit. </em></p><p>“Well I don’t know how you expect me to get <em> any </em> writing done if you won’t let me watch the master at work,” Jaskier sniffed; busying himself with his boots, he laced them tightly in a double knot.</p><p>“It’s too dangerous.”</p><p>“You <em> always </em> say it’s too dangerous. Besides, you <em> never </em> find contracts for faeries!” Jaskier <em> had </em> to go with him. </p><p>“The <em> Fae </em> aren’t to be trifled with, Jask,” Geralt <em> corrected </em> him! Jaskier stifled the snort that threatened to come out. “There’s a reason there aren’t many contracts on them. They’re too smart and too bloodthirsty to leave anyone behind,” well <em> that </em> just wasn’t true. Not <em> all </em> of the time at any rate. Most courts had just gotten good enough at hiding that contracts weren’t <em> needed </em> these days. Jaskier stood, arms crossed.</p><p>“No means <em> no </em> Jask,” Geralt held a hand up, interrupting before Jaskier got a chance to argue. “A Griffin is dangerous because it’s a wild thing, it doesn’t know any better. A Fachan is dangerous because it’s <em> malicious </em>.” The bard deflated. He knew Geralt didn’t have very favorable opinions of his brethren, but knowing something and hearing it are two very different things. </p><p>“... I thought you didn’t kill anything that can be reasoned with,” a statement, not a question. Jaskier’s voice was small. Geralt looked at him oddly.</p><p>“You can’t reason with the Fae,” he couldn’t tell him. </p><p>Geralt made quick work of strapping his armour on. If he was bothered by the uncharacteristic silence he didn’t let on. </p><p>“Promise me you won’t follow me,” Geralt approached Jaskier, a scant inch between them.</p><p>“I promise I won’t follow you,” Jaskier echoed dully. Geralt leaned in, pressing a close mouthed kiss against his own. They broke away, the Witcher nodded once before grabbing his bag and leaving the room.</p><p><em> I never said I wouldn’t find the Fachan on my own. </em> </p>
<hr/><p>Jaskier knew it wouldn’t take him long to track down the Fachan’s nest. Mercifully Geralt was at least two miles away investigating where the bodies had been found, and even with <em> his </em> heightened senses Jaskier was sure he’d have some time before he was found. </p><p>The bard both loved and hated the use of his magic. Letting it unfurl to find the Fachan felt like a long, languorous stretch, like laying in the warm sun of a summer day. He was already dreading having to reign it back in. </p><p>The magical signature of the creature was weak—it had to be if the poor thing was resorting to human blood and flesh for nourishment. And weak though it was, it still permeated the air around the great hulking willow tree in the middle of a sunny glade. Jaskier could sense the glamor around the base of the tree, felt the slightest shiver of it.</p><p>“Fachan.” His voice was quiet, but commanding, as he infused it with as much power as he could.</p><p>“My liege,” the voice was a sarcastic rasp. Jaskier fought the urge to flinch as he turned around to face the creature. </p><p>The Fachan was a horrid thing to look at. It was easily twice his height, with a long, lithe torso. It had only one leg and one arm, the defining characteristic of Fachans—this one used shadows made corporeal to fill the gap. The resulting humanoid figure looked otherworldly, demonic. This Fachan was older, weaker, it hunched over into itself with its one eye hard and sceptical. It was colourless, skin grey and shadows black, as if the little illusion that hid its nest had sapped it of its vibrancy. Jaskier squared his shoulder, letting his own glamor drop enough to show his sharp teeth.</p><p>“Your hunting’s gotten too messy. The village has hired a Witcher, you need to leave before he finds you,” the Fachan appeared unmoved as it looked down at him.</p><p>“What business do you have meddling? This is <em> my </em> territory,” the Fachan curled its mismatched arms around itself, Jaskier could taste its fear.</p><p>“And the Witcher is <em> my </em> territory. He’ll kill you. And surely be hurt trying,” Geralt was strong and capable, and this creature <em> was </em> weak, but it would still put up a hard fight. Jaskier would <em> really </em> like to avoid that. The Fachan stared unblinking, its mouth pulled into a grotesque smirk.</p><p>“You stink of mortals, you’ve spent too much time around the humans if you think one of <em> them </em> can kill one of <em> us </em>,” he sniffed. </p><p>“This one can. I’m not asking you to go back to your Court, but you can’t stay here,” Jaskier stepped towards the creature, both hands held out, palms up. He knew it was clear that he could easily kill the Fachan, despite their comically mismatched sizes.</p><p>“And if I refuse? Will you push me out by force?” Its voice was bitter, but it made no move to retreat. Jaskier was unsure if that was because it was going to try to fight, or if it had already resigned itself to death.</p><p>“No, I would not presume to. I would leave you to the Witcher,” he shrugged.</p><p>“Then why come at all, little lordling?” Jaskier raised an eyebrow.</p><p>“I love the Witcher. I don’t want to see him hurt, but I’d also like to avoid one of mine spilling blood,” he stated simply, hoping the sincerity in his voice was enough to sway the Fachan. The quiet hum of magic in the clearing seemed deafening to Jaskier as he waited for a response. </p><p>“You don’t make a very compelling argument,” the Fachan said finally, smiling.</p><p>“I know,” Jaskier returned his grin. The Fachan reached out with its flesh hand, fingers splayed. The bard brushed his own, considerably smaller fingers over the creature’s thumb.</p><p>“Fine. I will move, little one. It is not worth the trouble to—” something warm splattered against Jaskier’s face. The air smelled sweet and cloying. The Fachan’s hand dropped, dead weight between them, and its shadow limb reached up to his neck where—<em> That’s one of Geralt’s bolts </em>.</p><p>The Witcher came between the two Fae, shoving Jaskier roughly behind him as he snarled. The Fachan swiped at the Witcher, and though the blow connected it was a mere scrape. It was too weak to do much damage. Jaskier scrambled back until he was pressed against a tree, he felt rooted to the ground as he watched, eyes wide. Though the Fachan’s moves were sluggish for a Fae they were still quite fast for a Witcher. Geralt dodged another swipe and sank his blade into the creature’s arm. The iron was making quick work of the Fachan, and it faltered. Geralt took the opening and sliced the sword through its long, spindly neck, slicing almost clear through with brutal efficiency. The large creature crumpled to its side, its head flopping unnaturally over, held on only by tendons. The shadow limbs dissipated like the smoke of a candle being blown out. </p><p>Geralt's shoulders slumped as he panted, one hand against his side. He was bleeding from multiple scrapes, but looked largely unharmed. As if suddenly remembering his presence, the Witcher whipped his head around to Jaskier and all but ran to his side. He dropped to his knees, abandoning his sword to gently scour the bard’s skin, checking him for injuries. When he found none he let loose a breath. </p><p>“Go back to the inn Jaskier,” he stood, picking the sword up from where he’d abandoned it next to Jaskier. He sounded very tired.</p><p>“Geralt—”</p><p>“<em> Go back to the inn. </em> I’m going to wrap this up. We <em> will </em> speak about this later.” Geralt’s command let no room for protestation.</p><p>Jaskier rose on unsteady legs. He could feel the sharpened teeth crowding his mouth, but was struggling to pull the glamor back in place. Geralt made his way back over to the Fachan’s corpse, dagger in hand, and Jaskier fled, not wanting to watch.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Title is from <i>Invictus</i> by William Earnest Henley, chapter title is from <i>Madam Life's A Piece In Bloom</i> by the same author.</p><p>True to form the next chapter will be in Geralt's POV and posted some time next week! I hope you stick around to read it, but in the meantime you can drop me a line at my tumblr <a href="https://geraskiertrash.tumblr.com/">Geraskier Trash</a>!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. And Time Will Turn Him Never</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Geralt was <em> tired </em> . Bone-achingly, back breakingly, breath stealing <em> tired </em> . He stood outside the door of the alderman’s hut, coin in hand, and wondered what’d he’d do—what he’d <em> say </em> to his idiotic, suicidal bard. </p><p>He couldn’t even <em> remember </em> the last time he’d felt fear the way it had rushed over him in that clearing. The sight of that hulking <em> monster </em> touching Jaskier, looming over his much smaller form… something wild ripped through him. After all he’d seen, all he’d <em> done </em> in that godsforesaken time loop, he was so very certain that there was nothing life could throw at him that would break him. He was <em> wrong </em>. </p><p>It was different—so different—knowing then that he’d have another chance, another day. There were no more second chances here. If Jaskier died <em> now </em> there would be no do-overs. And Geralt simply could not abide that. He’d been hyper aware of his lover’s mortality lately… of his <em> fragility </em> . Seeing the bruises and bites left from their love making was a sobering reminder of Jaskier’s vulnerability. He <em> knew </em> that humans didn’t live for very long—not in comparison to Witchers—and he was <em> abundantly </em> aware that Jaskier would inevitably shuffle off this mortal coil. But he’d be <em> damned </em> if it was any time soon. He would <em> have </em> to be more careful. </p><p>Geralt was dreading that conversation with Jaskier because he knew it would turn into a fight, and he hated fighting with his bard. The short walk back to the inn did absolutely nothing to steady his nerves. </p><p>
  <em> Well, no putting it off I suppose. </em>
</p><p>“Master Witcher?” Geralt paused in the doorway to the inn. The barkeep motioned him over. </p><p>“Hmm.” She was a portly woman, with round red cheeks and merry eyes. Her features, though homely, were the sort that seemed welcoming in their warmth. </p><p>“You’ll be headin’ out soon then?” Ah. She was probably none too pleased about the scene they’d caused the night before. </p><p>“We’ll be out of your hair tomorrow morning,” he reassured, moving towards the staircase.</p><p>“Ah—no, sir, stay as long as ye’d like,” Geralt quirked a brow. “It’s just… if you’ve no future pressing endeavors, my sister in Frischlow’s been complainin’ about a ghost lately. Thought ye’d perhaps be willing to lend a helping hand.” Frischlow was at least a day’s ride to the East, and he <em> had </em> meant to start North towards Kaer Morhen… but a bit more coin would be nice. And the town <em> was </em> next to the coast—which he knew Jaskier would approve of. He may even be able to use the trip as a bargaining chip if things went tits up (as he was predicting they would).</p><p>“I, um, can’t promise ye any coin on their behalf, but I’m <em> sure </em> Irena—my sister, that is— would at least let ye stay for free,” she’d obviously taken his silence as an answer in the negative. </p><p>“I’ll have a look,” he grunted, trying not to be <em> too </em> pleased about the bright grin that had broken out on the older woman’s face. He still wasn’t quite used to people treating him as anything other than a monster. The Witcher turned on his heel before any more requests could be made, or god forbid, thanks rendered. </p><p>As he made his way up the stairs, their creaking seemed deafening in the otherwise quiet tavern. Normally Jaskier would be playing for coin, not one to let a potential audience go without entertainment. He was probably still rattled from his encounter with the creature. <em> Good, maybe it scared some sense into him. </em> </p><p>Geralt sighed as he swung the door to their room open. Jaskier was sitting on a stool next to a steaming bath—<em> bless him </em>—his shirt in his hands, scrubbing. </p><p>“Bath’s ready and waiting, love,” he murmured, not looking up from his task. Geralt frowned. As he struggled with the shoulder clasp on his chest plate his frown deepened; Jaskier didn’t offer to help him. Which he didn’t <em> need </em>, but he always appreciated. Even when his bard was in a mood he’d assist with the finicky straps. </p><p>“I told you not to follow me Jask. You lied to me,” Geralt finally got the buckle in the right place and the armour came loose. Jaskier didn’t look up.</p><p>“I <em> didn’t </em> follow you. I went looking for the Faken thingy on my own.” Stupid, reckless <em> idiot </em>.</p><p>“<em> Fachan </em>,” he corrected, “and that’s even worse,” he unlaced his trousers. Finally Jaskier’s hands stilled; Geralt wasn’t sure if his fingers were red from the scrubbing or from the blood.</p><p>“Ignoring that, I <em> didn’t </em> break any promises.” He held Geralt’s gaze steadily, almost as if challenging him. The Witcher was the first to look away.</p><p>“That’s not why I’m angry and you know it,” he threw his dirty clothes towards the bed and clambered into the tub. He wasn’t even <em> angry </em>, not anymore, just exhausted. </p><p>“Then why <em> are </em> you angry, Geralt?” Jaskier leaned one arm against the rough wood. His features were schooled into a carefully neutral expression.</p><p>Geralt sucked in a ragged breath. “If you can’t stay safe, stay out of trouble, then maybe you shouldn’t be with me,” he stared into the water. Jaskier had poured some sort of oil in it, and the surface had an almost rainbow sheen in the dim light of the room. </p><p>“That’s a load of shit and you know it,” Jaskier huffed a laugh, the Witcher glanced up. His eyes held a fondness that somehow seemed sad… and maybe just a little hollow. “I’m not <em> that </em> easy to get rid of,” the retort was matter-of-fact, punctuated by a soft caress to his cheek. Geralt reigned in the urge to lean into that warm touch.   </p><p>“But you are <em> very </em> easy to kill,” Geralt all but whispered. He lifted his hand to Jaskier’s face, stopping when he noticed the sticky splotches in his hair. “Come in, you have blood on you,” he brushed the crown of his head. Jaskier’s eyes widened just a bit before he wiggled out of his trousers.</p><p>Geralt kept his hand out to help the bard over the high rim, but Jaskier did not accept the gesture. Once in the tub he dunked his head in the water and began to scrub roughly at his sopping wet hair. Geralt reached out to still his hands, tugging the brunette wordlessly to settle stiffly between his thighs.</p><p>The Witcher reached over to the abandoned stool to retrieve the soap Jaskier had been using on his soiled shirt. He worked the bard’s damp tresses into a lather, being especially gentle as he washed the Fae blood out. The water around them had taken on a pinkish hue, the only noise in the room was the sound of water splashing. </p><p>“What’s wrong?” Geralt leaned forward, pressing his chest flush against Jaskier’s back. The silence was killing him.</p><p>“You know as far as fights go, this one is pretty sedate,” his shoulders had not lost their tension, despite the glibness of his tone. “Frankly I miss our yelling matches, this is just too melancholy for me.” Geralt didn’t miss screaming fights. He’d gotten plenty of that with Yennefer, and raising his voice with Jaskier felt <em> wrong </em>.</p><p>“You didn’t answer the question, Jask,” the bard hummed, leaning back against Geralt’s broad chest. His shoulders loosened a bit as he sank lower into the water. “<em> Jaskier </em>,” his exasperation colored his tone.</p><p>“I talked to him, you know.” Geralt stiffened. He’d talked to… what, the <em> Fachan </em>? “He was going to leave,” Jaskier’s voice was small. He twisted in the Witcher’s grasp to face him, and the anguish that painted his face had Geralt gobsmacked. “You don’t kill sentient beings,” Jaskier grasped Geralt’s hands, the reminder of that particular creed of his felt very much like a judgement. </p><p>Geralt sighed. “I know you thought that love, but it tricked you,” he tried to keep his voice neutral. Jaskier’s eyes met his own and he frowned.</p><p>“Fae can’t lie,” the statement was made with a surety that Geralt found incredibly endearing. While that particular rumor was true in the <em> strictest </em> definition, it was by no means the truth of actual interactions with the Fae. The couldn’t <em> lie </em> , but that didn’t mean that they couldn’t <em> deceive </em>. </p><p>“They dance around the truth. Mislead. Manipulate. It was going to keep killing, keep feeding. It’s in its nature.” Geralt surmised from the crestfallen look on Jaskier’s face that it had been the wrong thing to say. Perhaps now wasn’t the best teaching moment. </p><p>“You’re wrong, Geralt.” Jaskier slipped out of his grasp and stepped out of the tub, taking no heed to dry himself before pulling on a pair of soft sleep trousers. They never slept with clothes on anymore. </p><p>“Have you eaten love?” Geralt grabbed the towel from next to the tub as he stood, not caring if he’d gotten all the grime off. </p><p>“I’m not hungry. You can have the rest of my plate,” he pointed to the food on the desk. Both plates looked untouched from where he stood. “I’m going to bed.” Geralt’s heart constricted. </p><p>He watched as Jaskier settled himself beneath the blankets, as close to the edge as possible. Something was <em> horribly </em> wrong. The bard wasn’t acting like himself—they’d had their fair share of tiffs, but Jask gave as good as he got. The look of utter <em> defeat </em> on his face made Geralt’s stomach churn. Maybe he’d not eaten enough? Geralt approached the desk and eyed the platters. He’d not touched the salted meat on his plate and only a handful of berries were missing from the fruit. </p><p>Was he injured and Geralt just hadn’t caught it? No, that couldn’t be, he’d checked him over <em> thoroughly </em> and he didn’t smell any blood… could it have been something the Fachan had said? Had that beast <em> bespelled </em> Jaskier? But… any magic should have ended with the creature’s death. Could Jaskier just be… sad about its death? That wasn’t completely out of the question, Geralt knew that his bard had a tendency to love ugly, loathsome monsters. Like himself. </p><p>Geralt picked at the meat on the platter. He’d leave the fruit and nuts for Jaskier to have in the morning, he’d have to eat <em> something </em> before they set out. And Geralt knew how much his bard loved autumn berries. </p><p>A fond, tired smile came unbidden to his lips as the Witcher considered the lump on the bed. They’d be fine. He’d just… ask him in the morning. Jaskier was always saying that sleeping on an argument was usually the best solution. </p><hr/><p>Geralt stirred awake, the early morning light that spilled through the curtain made him squint. He knew he ought to untangle himself from Jaskier and start packing, but after the way they’d left things last night he wanted to savor the feel of his bard’s embrace.</p><p>With great regret and as carefully as he could Geralt pulled away from Jaskier, sliding his arm out from under him. He didn’t stir, heavy sleeper that he was. The bruises and scrapes on Jaskier’s skin were looking <em> much </em> better. Hardly there at all, really; the salve must have worked better than Geralt had expected. </p><p>The Witcher pulled the blanket up to cover his bard before quietly bustling about the room, packing their things and tidying up. He was glaring at the bottles of oil left out from last night’s bath, trying to discern which was which—Jaskier was very particular about their order—when a soft groan signalled his waking. Geralt watched his lover throw an arm over his face in a futile attempt to block out the light.</p><p>“S’too early,” he groaned, rolling over. </p><p>“Get dressed, you need to eat something,” Geralt grunted as he threw Jaskier’s shirt at him. It was still a bit damp, but at least the blood didn’t stain too badly. </p><p>“So <em> bossy </em> this morning,” the words came out muffled around a yawn. Thankfully he didn’t sound quite as upset as he had been the night before. </p><p>“Might be some work to the South East,” Geralt paused to consider his words, “near the coast. Thought we could fit in one last contract before we head North,” hopefully the draw of a stay by a beach would bring a smile to Jaskier’s face. He said nothing though, merely tugging the shirt over his head and fiddling with the ties at his wrists. Geralt frowned. </p><p>“I want you to spend the winter with me this year,” he blurted out. <em> That </em> startled Jaskier out of whatever daze he’d been in. The bard stilled, eyes going wide as he gaped at Geralt. The Witcher had been planning to ask for a while now, but he wasn’t expecting this sort of reaction. He’d hoped Jaskier would be… happier? Certainly not whatever he was now.</p><p>“Winter with you? At… Kaer Morhen?” He sounded dubious.</p><p>“Well… yes,” Geralt shifted his weight to his other foot, concentrating on keeping his hands from fidgeting. He was unreasonably nervous.</p><p>“Ahhh I don’t think that’s such a good idea Geralt,” the Witcher hoped he didn’t look as disappointed as he felt. </p><p>“The others really <em> would </em> like to meet you. They all know ‘Toss a Coin’,” <em> Stop trying to convince him you cretin he already said no. </em></p><p>“While that’s flattering I really wouldn’t want to intrude,” Jaskier held his hands up insistently.</p><p>Geralt’s brow quirked. “Why are you so against the idea?” The bard blanched.</p><p>“I don’t think they’d take too kindly to having a stranger in their home, my love,” Jaskier studiously avoided Geralt’s eyes as he bent over his pack to pull out a crumpled doublet. Something wasn’t right.</p><p>“<em> I </em> trust you implicitly. You have my heart. You’ve got nothing to worry about, my brothers trust my judgement,” the Witcher gently plucked the blue cloth from Jaskier’s hands, throwing it onto the bed. Jaskier looked up at him, biting his lower lip.</p><p>“It’s only a couple of months dear, you’ll hardly miss me,” the smile on his face didn’t reach his eyes.</p><p>“I—Jask what the <em> fuck </em> .” A hint of suspicion wormed its way into the back of Geralt’s mind. “Do you already have <em> plans </em>?” Jaskier shook his head a little too violently.</p><p>“No, Geralt I—”</p><p> “Because I know how you’ve kept yourself busy in winter’s past,” he felt sick. That couldn’t be it. It couldn’t possibly. Jaskier’s mouth set into a displeased line. Geralt could hear the blood rushing in his ears, he should <em> not </em> have said that.</p><p>“Is <em> that </em> what this is about?” The question was deadly quiet. They hadn’t had this conversation yet, everything about their situation seeming too delicate. “You <em> really </em> think I’m just biding my time with you, waiting for the first chance to fuck off to the nearest noble’s bed?” Jaskier’s voice was rising, he pushed Geralt with surprising strength. The Witcher sat heavily back on the bed, panic stealing his senses.</p><p>“Why don’t you want to meet my family then?” He felt very stupid asking that question. It didn’t help that Jaskier eyed him like a man that had lost his wits. Without warning a hysterical laugh bubbled out of him, that half sobbing sound he made whenever he was scared or panicked. </p><p>“I didn’t think we’d have the ‘meet the family’ argument,” he admitted, breath reedy as he wiped at the tears that were spilling down his reddened cheeks. “I must admit I’m <em>woefully</em> underprepared for this,” Geralt didn’t know what to do. He wanted to comfort Jaskier but was frozen in place, petrified he’d just make things worse like he <em> always </em> did. </p><p>Jaskier took a few deep breaths and knelt in front of him. “Geralt. My love. How long have we known each other?” <em> What? </em> Geralt cocked his head, studying his bard’s tear streaked face.</p><p>“North of forty years? I don’t know,” he shrugged helplessly. He was utter shite at these sorts of things, always forgetting important dates and such. Yennefer berated him about it <em> constantly </em>, but Jask never had.</p><p>“How <em> old </em> am I?” The softness of Jaskier’s voice startled Geralt. The bard’s slim fingers threaded through Geralt’s large, calloused ones. The Witcher knew his bard had to be approaching sixty if he wasn’t there already, which… didn’t quite make sense. Evidently his silence was enough of an answer.</p><p>“It’s odd, isn’t it? That I don’t look a day over eighteen?” Geralt’s breath hitched. He had known for a long time something was different about his bard, but he’d studiously averted his attention, preferring not to look too long or too hard at what that difference could be. </p><p>“What… what <em> are </em> you?” Jaskier’s expression was guarded, he stood slowly, relinquishing the hold he had on Geralt’s hands. </p><p>“Not human,” his answer was soft, a whisper against Geralt’s hair as he bent down to brush a gentle kiss to the crown of his head. Geralt pressed his face into Jaskier’s abdomen, breathing deeply. He didn’t care <em> what </em> Jaskier was, just that he was <em> his </em>. </p><p>“Does it matter?” Geralt’s voice was rough against Jaskier’s shirt. He rubbed circles on the bone of his hip, not wanting to pull away.</p><p>“I think it might, darling. I’m Fae,” Jaskier stepped back, a finger under Geralt’s chin lifted his gaze. Their eyes met and Geralt thought he might vomit. He’d murdered a Fae right in front of him. Washed the blood of his kin from his hair. So much of Jaskier’s deep, heavy melancholy made terrible sense. </p><p>“What… Court do you hail from?” He wasn’t entirely sure that was an appropriate question to ask. Jaskier’s brows were furrowed, he obviously hadn’t expected this reaction.</p><p>“Autumn,” his voice sounded strained. Truthfully, that didn’t mean much to Geralt. There were so few Fae left, and they so seldom made a nuisance of themselves that the minutia of their politics was a subject that was glossed over more often than not during his training. After that he just… never bothered to learn.</p><p>“My name <em> is </em> Julian, and I <em> did </em> grow up with the ruling family of Lettenhove. But I wasn’t exactly <em> their </em> son,” a changeling, then. Geralt thought idly he ought to be more surprised than he was. This eerie calm was a bit unnerving. The Witcher <em> looked </em> at his bard then. His features were entirely human. He <em> smelled </em> human. He’d spent countless hours with this man, lived with him, <em> loved </em> him… how could he not notice? </p><p>“Can I… see you?” Jaskier smiled at him fondly, but it didn’t reach his eyes. </p><p>“Are you sure you want to?” Geralt nodded. </p><p>In the blink of an eye something changed. Jaskier was taller now, but just by a bit—he’d probably be eye level with Geralt. His frame seemed more slender, as if he <em> stretched </em> into those extra inches, giving his limbs a willowy look. Long fingers fiddled with the hem of his shirt, and Geralt’s eyes were drawn to the extra joints in them. His skin was markedly paler, though it seemed to <em> glow </em> from the inside, the effect being an otherworldly iridescence that was breathtakingly lovely. </p><p>He was still Jaskier, though; his features were all there. A little sharper than usual, maybe, elongated. His cornflower blue eyes had no iris—no pupil, even. They were a solid, bright blue, standing in stark contrast against nearly translucent skin. His dark brown hair was run through with strands of gold and fire red, as if touched by a sunset. Everything about him seemed <em> brighter </em>, deeper. </p><p>“You’re beautiful,” Geralt breathed. Jaskier said nothing, but he looked very relieved. The Witcher stood, holding his arms out in a silent invitation. Faster than he’d seen <em> anything </em> move Jaskier was there in his embrace, squeezing him tightly. He pulled back a scant inch to look at Geralt. </p><p>“Even like this?” Those strange, lovely eyes were full of an emotion Geralt couldn’t put a name to.</p><p>“Especially like this,” the Witcher reassured as he nuzzled the side of his bard’s long, slender neck. He was quite enjoying this new height.  </p><p>“<em> Oh </em> ,” a pleased smile came across Jaskier’s face and Geralt startled at the sight of very long, <em> very </em> sharp teeth. Considering his occupation, Geralt really ought to be more on this fence about this all but frankly he was just so damned <em> relieved </em> to know Jask wasn’t as breakable as he’d been led to believe. </p><p>Without warning the world went a bit sideways and Geralt found himself on his back, stretched out across the unmade bed. Jaskier straddled his waist, looking down at him with undisguised pleasure. He gaped up at the slender Fae, speechless with the shock of being manhandled as if he weighed nothing. </p><p>“I’m going to fuck you, wolf,” Jaskier leaned down to nibble at the shell of Geralt’s ear. A bolt of white hot <em> need </em> shot through him. “Would you like that, darling?” He pinned his wrists down, swivelling his hips in an obscene manner. Geralt gasped, nodding.</p><p>“Tell me love. Use your words,” one sharp nail dragged down Geralt’s chest, flaying his shirt open with ease. </p><p>“I want you,” he wheezed, his hips jerking up in search of friction. “I want you in me,” the viselike grip Jaskier had on his hands loosened as the Fae moved to tug Geralt’s trousers down. The chill of the morning air felt like ice against his exposed skin and he hissed at the sensation. </p><p>“I think I like you wanton and wanting my love. It’s an exquisite look on you,” a slick finger pressed against Geralt’s hole and—where did that oil <em>come</em> from? When did he even—</p><p>“Oh <em> god </em> ,” the tortured groan that came from Geralt’s throat startled him. It wasn’t like he’d never been on the receiving end, but an extra joint on a finger makes a <em> world </em> of difference. </p><p>“Not a god, darling, but close,” Jaskier’s voice was teasing as he slipped another finger inside the Witcher. It was too much too fast, but when those clever, nimble fingers brushed over his bundle of nerves he knew he’d die before asking him to stop. Sharp nails dug into his hip as Jaskier jerked him into a better position.</p><p>“You—you’re <em> strong </em> ,” the Witcher felt very silly making that observation, but it was just so… <em> unexpected </em>. Laughter like bells sounded above him.</p><p>“I’ve been waiting a very long time to show you <em> how </em> strong dearheart,” the third finger he added <em> burned </em> and Geralt couldn’t keep the wince from his face. </p><p>“Shhh, I’ve got you my love,” kisses peppered his face as Jaskier twisted his fingers, opening the Witcher up with a cruel efficiency that Geralt <em> loved </em>. </p><p>“Fuck me? Please, <em> please </em> fuck me,” Geralt knew he was crying but didn’t care. His skin felt like it was on fire and he trembled with want. The bard captured his mouth in a deep kiss, his tongue flicking over Geralt’s own. He tasted sweet, earthy. </p><p>The pressure on the Witcher’s wrists was gone then, and Jaskier was sitting up above him, working his cock free of his trousers and—<em> oh </em>. That grew some too. </p><p>Soft hands were on Geralt’s hips, jerking him forward and up as Jaskier lined himself up. He whimpered at the pressure of his hole being breeched; it was a sweet burn, hot pleasure with the barest twinge of pain. Jaskier was slower to sink himself into Geralt than he was to prepare him and a litany of pitiful moans spilled from between his lips. </p><p>“You’re so good for me darling, so <em> good </em> my beautiful wolf,” the praise was breathy and Geralt could feel his balls tighten with lust. “Look at you, writhing on my cock. You like when I fill you Geralt?” Jaskier finally bottomed out and Geralt grit his teeth against the pressure of being so <em> full </em> . He struggled for breath, knowing that he wanted— <em> gods his eyes are so beautiful </em> —wanted <em> something </em>.</p><p>“Jask,” his voice was ragged. “Hold me down?” For a moment Jaskier just blinked at him, and Geralt began to regret his request but then he was trapped against the bed and his bard had a feral smile on his face.</p><p>“Anything for you my love,” his whisper washed over Geralt like it was a tangible thing, like being bathed in a fine mist. His thrusts came harder now, faster as Jaskier leaned down to lick a long line up his throat, those sharp teeth scraping over his pulse point. Geralt keened as he hit that spot in him again, he wasn’t going to last much longer.</p><p>“I’m going to cum in you darling,” Jaskier rearranged so both his wrists were pinned under those long fingers, his other hand coming between them to wrap around Geralt’s own neglected, weeping cock and the <em>intensity</em> of it had him reeling.</p><p>“Yes, yes, please Jask fill me up, I want you,” and surely it wasn’t <em> him </em> begging? The hand that fisted around his cock twisted as Jaskier’s hips snapped into him. The combined sensations pushed Geralt over the edge and he violently spilled his seed, his orgasm so intense the edges of his vision went fuzzy. </p><p>“Oh <em> there </em> you are, yes, good job darling,” Jaskier’s voice was broken as he stilled over him, shaking as his own orgasm spilled into Geralt, his dick twitching. Jaskier withdrew carefully and the noise of protest Geralt made was unseemly. </p><p>“It’s alright dearheart, I’ve got you,” and Geralt was wrapped up in those long arms, forehead pressed against Jaskier’s staring at his bard in unabashed wonder. They settled into the bed, nose to nose as they curled in towards each other.</p><p>“That… is this is why you like it rough?” Jaskier ducked his head, nosing at Geralt’s neck. The Witcher could <em> swear </em> there was a faint blush on those pallid cheeks.</p><p>“Yes, it’s ah… a bit of a thing with us I suppose,” his breath was warm against Geralt’s skin. “But we can tone it down if you want, love,” he shook his head. Maybe someday, for now Geralt wanted to see just what he’d been missing out on. </p><p>“Jask,” he pulled back from Jaskier’s embrace, searching his expression. “I… I’m sorry. For the Fachan. I don’t have the words to tell you how—” lips pressed against his in a chaste kiss. </p><p>“No love. It was my fault. If I’d just told you the truth sooner it wouldn’t have happened,” Geralt ran his hand over the bard’s skin, free from the bruises that had littered it before. His eyes roamed the curve of his arm, narrowing as he noted with no small amount of concern the suspiciously evenly spaced scars running down the length of it. </p><p>“Ah, those,” Jaskier cleared his throat and Geralt flushed at being caught. “My specialty is blood magic. Anything big needs… sacrifice of sorts? It’s not, well... “ he shrugged and Geralt considered him.</p><p>“The Fachan didn’t use that sort of magic,” Jaskier shook his head.</p><p>“No, he wouldn’t have. He was a type of pixie, Winter Court I think. I’m High Fae… like most other High Fae in the Autumn court I use blood magic almost exclusively,” he paused, as if to consider how much he could say. “It’s not a precise sort of practice, so we have problems with small workings, but there’s generally more power to blood magic than in other schools,” there was <em> so much </em> Geralt didn’t know. It was daunting. </p><p>“How did you hide it for so long?” Jaskier’s sharp features arranged themselves into something resembling contrition. He snaked one hand up to the back of Geralt’s head and worked the knot out of his hair tie. </p><p>“This helped,” he dropped the leather cord on the bed in the space between them. “I spelled it to cover my scent. Holding a glamor is easy enough, but to trick your eyes <em> and </em> your nose is a bit more work. With this I only had to do half of it.” And… yes, it <em> was </em> different. He still smelled of honey, like human Jaskier did, but there were also hints of apple and thyme. Geralt felt a bit odd about that, honestly. He didn’t like the fact he’d been bespelled, but he could understand why Jaskier would do it. </p><p>“So you don’t want to come to Kaer Morhen because… it would be too difficult to hold both parts of the glamor?” Jaskier’s mouth quirked into a small smile.</p><p>“Always so quick on the uptake, dearheart. Yes, that’s why,” closing his eyes, Geralt pressed a gentle kiss to Jaskier’s forehead.</p><p>“So don’t use your glamor,” he murmured the suggestion against his bard’s skin, not wanting to risk watching his reaction.</p><p>“I—you—what? <em> No </em> ,” he sputtered, shoving back. “Geralt I <em> can’t </em>. They’ll kill me,” he shook his head, a pleading look that begged him to understand. </p><p>“I won’t let that happen,” his voice was low, sure. “You trust me, yeah?” Jaskier nodded as he worried his bottom lip. His teeth drew blood. </p><p>“I trust you,” he mumbled.</p><p>“Then come home with me. I <em> promise </em> it will be fine,” he cupped Jaskier’s face, keeping his gaze steady. His tongue shot out to wet his lips, spreading the blood into a macabre approximation of rouge. </p><p>“Alright darling. I’ll go,” he sounded thoroughly unconvinced. Geralt would show him—it would be fine. </p><p>“<em> Thank you </em>,” he pulled his Fae into a kiss, the strangely sharp teeth bumping his own. He’d get used to it.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Well there it is folks! I'm not sure if I'm done in this world or not, I'd had some vague plans to write the winter at Kaer Morhen, but we'll see how it goes :) This chapter title was taken from William Earnest Henley's <i>O Gather Me The Rose</i>.</p><p>And especially for Woods here's the answers to the questions you posed last chapter that didn't get addressed here:</p><p><b>Does Jaskier's species eat people too?:</b> Oh <i>yes</i>. Jaskier does not though. </p><p><b>What's his diet?:</b> Generally fruits, vegetables and alcohol. He can eat bread but usually doesn’t and most meats make him want to vomit. He has a huge sweet tooth (like most of his kind) so his absolute favorite food is honey.</p><p>Thanks again for sticking with me, I hope you enjoyed this fic! If anyone has any requests for a one shot <i>please</i> don't hesitate to ask! As always, you can find me at my tumblr <a href="https://geraskiertrash.tumblr.com/">Geraskier Trash</a>!</p>
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